


A Hollow Fennel Stalk

by Janieshi



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, did I mention the angst?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-17 00:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10582362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janieshi/pseuds/Janieshi
Summary: In which Riza and Roy attempt to stay in touch as they'd promised each other. Meanwhile, Riza agrees to be the guardian of her father's life work. Set Post-Espionage and Pre-Pistols, but can be read as a stand-alone.





	1. Ferula Communis

“The Prometheus Project?” Riza asked, reading his notebook upside down. “After the Arcadian myth?” Her father smiled.

“Yes, the titan who brought fire to mankind,” he replied. “I had to call it something in my notes. It seemed appropriate.”

“In your notes...” she repeated, hesitantly.

“Mm?” Berthold raised his head, looking at her rather than through her for once.

“You’re referring to the notes about...about me, right?” Riza ventured, carefully studying her hands. She was afraid of what she might see in his eyes. But her father leaned forward and slid a bony finger under her chin, tilting it up until she was looking at him.

“The sections that concern you are encoded as a collection of ancient fairy tales, completely separate from the rest of my research. No one need see them unless you choose,” he assured her.

“Then, why—?”

Berthold smiled faintly.

“You wish to know why I would bother recording the data at all, yes?” His daughter nodded. “The scientist in me, I suppose. I found that I was unable to let it pass undocumented entirely. Posterity's sake," he said. "Come, now, let’s check your bandages.”

Obligingly, she turned around and presented her back to him. Gently, always so gently now that she bore his research, Berthold peeled the tape and gauze away from her skin.

“How does it look?” she asked softly, after several long moments of silence had passed. He handed her a small hand mirror.

“Here,” he said, positioning another, larger mirror at her back. Turning the hand mirror this way and that until she could see her whole back clearly, Riza sucked in a sharp breath. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” her father said reverently.

And it was, in a way. Slender, brownish-red lines swirled over her skin in an intricate pattern that she wished she knew how to interpret. The skin around the tattoo was angry and red, and still stung whenever she moved, rather like a minor burn. Because that wasn’t ironic at all, was it? 

“Yes,” she said at last, obediently. At least the pain had faded to a manageable level, now.

“‘But the noble son of Iapetus outwitted him, and stole the far-seen beam of weariless fire in a hollow fennel stalk.’ Ferula communis, that is,” Berthold added, tracing one of the lines with a fingertip.

“Ferula,” Riza echoed faintly.

Was that all she was? A hollow stalk of fennel?

* * *

 

 

At first, the promised letters came thick and fast.

Roy was an unexpectedly poetic writer, descriptive and insightful. Reading about his various instructors and classmates, Riza often wondered what sorts of things he’d written about _her_ in all those letters home to his aunt and her employees..but she could never work up the courage to ask. Instead she pressed late spring flowers in between the pages of heavy books from her father’s library and slipped them in with her replies, as mementos of the beautiful countryside he often claimed to miss.

 _“Not much in the way of woods or glens or glades here in Central,”_ he’d explained. _“Although we do have some grass out on the track field, of course, there really aren’t enough green, growing things here – I suppose I got a bit spoiled living with you and Hawkeye-sensei.”_

Riza could almost see the wry little twist of his lip, the spark of amusement in his dark eyes.

As for Riza, she mostly wrote about day to day events: the mild gossip of a small town, describing the lives of their mutual acquaintance to the best of her ability. Other things, though, she kept carefully hidden, meticulously re-reading and often re-writing her letters before she sent them, hoping that her carefully chosen words and phrases would not betray the true depth of her loneliness.

 _“It’s finally warming up a bit here,”_ she wrote, _“and there are wildflowers spilling out of every nook and crevice and ditch. I’ve been spending as much time as I can spare out in the woods and at the lake. Which reminds me, I found one of your books near the dock. The cover is a bit faded from the sun, but otherwise it’s in good shape, so it couldn’t have been lying out there for very long…probably since the weekend just before you left, when we had that picnic. I’ll mail it back to you just as soon as I’ve finished it. I hope you don’t mind my borrowing it for just a little bit longer...”_

She knew he wouldn’t.  

 

It frightened her a little, the way she longed for and treasured those few-odd folded sheets of paper as if they contained the solutions to all of life’s problems. But although she secreted each and every one of Roy's letters in a box under a loose floorboard in her room and re-read them all whenever she felt lonely, there were certain feelings that she didn’t dare to admit even to herself.

_"Please, keep the book for as long as you like. I’ve read it so often I think I’ve almost got it memorized now. In fact, why don’t you just hang onto it for me? I’ll be back again someday, remember, to finish the rest of my apprenticeship. Can I ask you to look after it for me until then? Oh, I’ll have to apologize to Claire; I assumed she’d borrowed it without asking. Again. Speaking of reading material, I am really enjoying the poetry anthology you gave me as a going-away present. My favorite so far is the Blake one, about the tiger and the lamb.”_

He would like that one, Riza thought with a smile. ‘What the hand dare seize the fire,’ indeed.

 

_"Papa has been tired and withdrawn all this week. But the roses are beginning to bloom, and I keep finding him sitting in the window seat, staring out at them. It was around this time of year when we lost my mother, you see. I’m especially glad that I took your advice and pruned her roses back this winter. They haven't looked half so healthy and beautiful since she died.”_

And so even her mother's roses were a constant reminder of her absent friend. Along with everything else in the house.

_“I got into a fist fight today. Not over a girl this time, I promise! Some of the upperclassmen had been picking on a cadet in my year._ _Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten involved, but it was five against one, which wouldn’t have been a fair fight even if he **had** said or done something to provoke them. But his only offense was being different. So of course I opened my big mouth and jumped in. Even the boy I was trying to help looked at me like I was nuts, but before either of us could do anything else, a third guy turned up, one who I’d actually seen hanging around with the same group of seniors that were doing the bullying. His friends thought he’d come to join the fun, but then he joined the fight on our side instead...and the three of us won! But we also got busted by one of the instructors. We’ve been assigned to a work detail for punishment, and the other five guys have latrine duty for the next two months. But at least now I’ve got two new friends!”_

Of course - making new friends had always been so easy for him.

 

Naturally, as his classes and training made more demands on his time, Roy’s letters slowly dwindled from weekly to biweekly to monthly. And all too soon they were merely sporadic updates, quick postcards dashed off just to say he hoped Riza and her father were both well and that he was keeping busy with his courses. He didn’t come right out and say so, but she knew that he was also busy spending his down time with his classmates. His new friends.

Some days, she missed the warmth of his smile so much it hurt.

After a while, she began to keep a small collection of letters that she addressed to him but never actually intended anyone to read.

_“You complained about having to put in extra time at the firing range, in your last letter. Did I tell you that my father taught me how to shoot, just after you left? He claims I have natural talent. Apparently my mother was an excellent markswoman, too, and Papa said she’d be proud of me. I wonder whether I could teach you a thing or two, if you were here."_

_“Of course I agreed, even after he told me it would be painful. I’m not trying to sound brave or anything—I’m terrified. But how could I possibly refuse? Finally, **finally** , there’s _something _he needs from me, some tangible way for me to be useful to him. Something that only I can do. He was so happy when I said I'd do it..”_

_“I didn’t mean to, but I fought him. It hurt a lot more than I’d imagined. Worse than a dislocated shoulder. Worse than a broken bone. I tried so hard not to cry, but I couldn’t help it.”_

_"My entire back still feels like it’s been set on fire. Papa says that the pain will fade in another day or two, but right now it’s bad enough that I can’t sleep. I lie on my stomach with my eyes closed and wait until Papa checks on me. If he's realized that I'm only faking, he doesn't let on. But I wait for at least an hour after he's gone, just in case. And then I climb out my window, like old times._ _Long walks help keep my mind off the pain, you see. And cold water dulls the ache. So I’ve been going to the lake every morning, right before the sun rises, when the sky is still that soft pearly grey color. I float on my back, the way you taught me, until the water has numbed the skin enough that I can almost pretend it’s not there...of course it always hurts twice as much once I get out. Maybe I should be concerned about the bacteria lurking in the lake water, but Papa has been putting a special salve on my back to prevent infections, and he checks on it every day. As long as he says it looks all right, I'm not worried…”_

_"I daydream about you sometimes, and about what you might do to help distract me if you were here. You’d probably make me tea and toast late at night, and read to me in the afternoons, and hold my hand when I’m scared. I wish…I wish I was still sure that you were really coming back one day. I wish I didn’t have to miss you so much...”_

 

And then, after weeks and then months and then years had slowly passed, there came a day when Riza had to send a letter she’d prayed she’d never have to write.

_Papa has been asking for you. He’s been really ill this last week, but he was adamant that I send for you. I understand that you’re very busy with your classes, but if there is any way you could get away, just for a few days, please come. It would really mean a lot to us both.”_

Deep down, she was certain he _wouldn’t_ come. And so she was stunned to see him walking up the drive just a few days later.

 

 


	2. Passing of the Torch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roy returns, Berthold passes the torch, and Riza isn't quite sure how to feel anymore.

Standing frozen at the kitchen sink with a glass of water clenched too tightly in one shaking hand, Riza watched Roy approach the house.

He looked exactly as she remembered him, and yet completely different at the same time. He carried himself with the same easy grace as always, but there was a new pride and self-assurance in the straightness of his spine and the set of his shoulders. The uniform coat was tailored well, showing how well his lanky teenage frame had filled out since she’d seen him last. His broader chest and shoulders spoke volumes of the physical aspects of his military training, and she recalled his early complaints about being made to run laps in full kit: packs and rifles and all.

But the cheerful smile she remembered was absent, replaced by a determined, grim expression she’d never seen on his face before.

Even as that thought crossed her mind, Riza realized that she was afraid to meet him again. What if he wasn’t the same person she once knew? It had been two whole years, now, since they’d seen each other. Had writing to him been a mistake after all?

Roy knocked, then, having reached the door during her internal struggle, but she couldn’t make herself walk to the door. Instead, he waited a few moments before running a hand over the brickwork and dislodging the spare key from its old hiding place. He called out a cautious greeting as he let himself in. When no one answered, he dropped his pack unceremoniously beside the door and headed straight for the stairs, following the familiar route to his teacher’s inner sanctum.

Straight to business, then.

He hadn’t even considered looking around for her, had he? Two years, Riza reminded herself. It’d been two whole years. Why should Mr. Mustang seek _her_ out? He’d come in answer to her father’s summons, not hers—she’d simply acted as her father’s proxy in the matter. She certainly had no claim on him, aside from friendship. And maybe not even that, anymore.

Two years.

Twice the amount of time they’d even _known_ each other. She stood frozen at the sink for a long time, staring with unseeing eyes at the half-full glass of water still clenched in her hand.

But then there was a heavy thud and a cry from upstairs. Riza didn’t even hear the glass shatter as it slipped from her nerveless fingers. Heart in her throat, she’d flown up the stairs even as that once-familiar voice desperately called out for someone, anyone, to help him.

 

The next several hours passed in something of a blur. Riza had a vague recollection of gripping the door frame for support when her knees had turned to jelly at the sight of her father’s unnaturally still form, gently cradled in Mustang’s arms.

She remembered feeling grateful that her father had finally agreed to have a phone line installed as she dialed the doctor’s number with shaking hands and told him what had happened. She remembered sitting perfectly still with her hands folded neatly in her lap, listening silently as Dr. James gently confirmed what they’d already known.

And she remembered feeling too numb and hollow to even cry.

But mostly, she remembered the warmth of an arm tentatively wrapped around her shoulders, and the gentle murmuring of nonsense words against her hair, and the feeling of relief that rushed through her as she realized that Roy WAS still the same boy she’d thought she’d known, the one who had always tried his best to comfort and support his friend.

Maybe…maybe he could help her get through this.

He was so gentle, so careful with her. Though she understood that he was trying to be considerate, a large part of her wanted to scream at him that she wasn’t made of glass; that she wasn’t a child that needed looking after. Not anymore. Not for a long time, now.

But another part of her wanted him to wrap her up in his arms and swear he’d protect her forever.

Riza wasn’t sure which feelings disturbed her most.

The funeral had passed in a haze. In the unending sea of well-meaning faces and voices offering condolences, he’d been her anchor, always at her side. And once everyone else had finally gone home, he’d taken her hand and led her back into the house, made sure she’d eaten, and trundled her off to bed. And the following morning, he’d followed her out to the grave and stood silently beside her, mourning with her.

Alone at last, Roy had finally spoken about his dream, and expressed regret that he’d come back too late. His words had touched a chord in her, one that made her resolve to place her trust in him again, in spite of the terrible risk.

 

It was his sharp inhalation of breath that brought her back to the present moment.

Seeing herself through his eyes, Riza was terrified all over again. She was so certain he’d never hurt her; hadn’t he proven that to her time and time again? And yet the magnitude of her actions struck her with a suddenness that made her weak in the knees. Her nearest neighbors were miles away: if he should, in fact, try to harm her, there was no one to come to her aid. And absolutely nothing she could do to stop him.

Even her weapons were beyond her reach - why hadn’t she thought to keep one close to her at all times?

Because, she answered herself. Because she’d let her guard down. She’d trusted him. Even as her thoughts spun in dizzying circles of fear and self-recrimination, something brushed the bare skin of her back.

It was the barest contact – a feather-light brush of a fingertip over one of the thickest lines in the array. But Riza flinched as though she’d been stabbed. And at her sudden motion, the man standing behind her immediately snatched his hands back.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have...I didn’t mean to touch without asking,” he stammered as she trembled. “Oh my god, sensei,” he whispered. “What have you _done_?”

Tears filled her eyes, then, and she clutched her blouse to her chest in a sick haze of shame and relief and sorrow and giddy affection. Roy hadn’t changed so much, after all.

“It-it’s all right,” she managed to say, swallowing her fear as well as she could. “You startled me, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. And then he was silent for so long that she nearly turned to make sure he was still standing in the room with her.

But then she felt his breath, warm on the nape of her neck, and one cold fingertip traced the outer lines of her tattoo with agonizing tenderness. She tried to control her reaction, but she couldn’t quite hide the shiver that wracked her frame or the goose bumps that sprang up in the wake of his gentle touch.

“Sorry,” he whispered again. He paused for a moment to blow into his cupped hands. His fingertip, when it brushed her naked flesh for the third time, was pleasantly warm.

It might as well have been an iron brand, the way it set her skin aflame. And wasn’t that an ironic thought to have in the face of the sigils and runes under his hands?

“Can you...can you see it all right in here?” she asked timidly. “Shall I put another lamp on?”

And oh god, how she wished that those gentle touches meant something else...but no. This was no time to indulge in a schoolgirl fantasy. This boy— this _man_ —was her friend. Her _best_ friend. Her father’s favored apprentice. And he was here for information, nothing more. He’d decipher the notes and then be on his way again.

Hadn’t he just told her that he planned to stay in the army for life? This wasn’t some ridiculous romance novel like the ones she’d once found stashed in the attic. It wasn’t as if he would beg her to come back with him, nor would she try to entice him to stay. Their destinies diverged, now.

And as much as she wished he’d just wrap his arms around her and kiss her, she knew that was a dream that would never become real.

The fingers on her back trembled, ever so slightly.

“No,” he breathed softly. “This will take some time. I’ll have to decipher his code, and copy out the runes and things...we can’t do this here. And certainly not in one night. We’ll need a - well, someplace you can lie down,” he said, haltingly.

She thought of the table in the basement, where her father had taken her to put the array into place. And then she started to tremble in earnest.

* * *

When Berthold had asked his daughter whether she would consent to becoming the guardian of his life’s work, of course she'd agreed. Though she hadn’t realized at first what that would entail, she was still willing until the moment he’d led her into the lab. He’d fitted one of the long tables with a series of restraints, which he would have to use to hold her down while he worked on her back. The sight of the numerous straps and locks had frozen Riza in place.

A firm hand had gripped her shoulder, hard, and she’d managed another two faltering steps before she’d stopped again. And then everything had gone black, because at that point, sensing her weakness, her father had struck her sharply at the base of her neck. She’d come to already strapped to the table. Struggling vainly had only irritated him, and her terrified pleas to reconsider fell on deaf ears.

Though he’d warned her at the beginning that the procedure might sting a bit, he’d failed to mention the excruciating pain which would turn her vision white and rob her lungs of the breath to scream.

* * *

Suddenly Roy’s arms were around her, and his lips were pressed to the top of her head. And a part of Riza’s heart shattered, because it was the embrace of a guardian, a protector…not that of a lover. And the tears that sprang to her eyes were for the loss of what might have been between them. Because she knew that the weight of his guilt, the responsibility that he shouldered, would never allow him to cross that line again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

 _So am I_ , she thought. _So am I._


End file.
